


Better Left in the Dark

by MoeLoogham



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Asra/Muriel if you squint, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, One Shot, The Arcana (Visual Novel) Spoilers, maybe even Apprentice/Asra/Muriel if you squint harder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoeLoogham/pseuds/MoeLoogham
Summary: “I don’t recall any of those stories having good endings.”“I’m not really looking to argue with you, Muriel. You asked what I’m doing and I told you.”“So you don’t think what you’re doing is wrong?”“I thought that was obvious.”***Broken by his distress, Asra turns his grief into macabre determination. However, when Muriel pushes for answers, Asra finds himself backed in a corner. The truth hurts, and more often than not, it hurts everyone involved.Inspired by the Din Zine.





	Better Left in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second of two stories I wrote to apply for a zine called Din. The zine is currently being worked on, and just closed its applications. Unfortunately, I was not accepted, but the mod has graciously allowed me to post this while still mentioning that it is affiliated with a theme that was inspired by the zine. If you would like to know more, go check it out on tumblr, it's going to be a beautiful zine and I hope you all will support it. :)

Blood of a basilisk, for cunning. Bone of a stag, for rebirth and vitality. Claw of a manticore for strength and willpower. Asra ran through the ingredients filed away in his head while he scoured his shelves for more of them, setting what he could find on the table. He had lists of ingredients stored in the shop and in his memory, finding similar metaphysical properties, and connecting them for later use.

The entire back room of the shop had been transformed into his own testing space. Books of correspondences, jars of ingredients both common and rare, bottles and cauldrons and bowls, pages bookmarked and note cards spread across the walls with colored threads tied to the nails that held them there. It looked like a mad house behind that curtain, less than a week after his return from the Lazerat. His days were spent pouring over books, and nights like this were spent finding how it all worked in practice, in the comfort of a sleeping city.

Faust had grown increasingly distraught over Asra’s behavior in that time. But the young magician was too determined to let it distract him. She was curled around his arm, just out of a desire to be close to him; while he scrubbed the remaining flesh from the skull of a deer he had been soaking in water to clean. Faust gave a small squeeze to remind him that she was there. It was her only hope of stopping him from going completely out of his mind. Although he noticed her concern and felt guilty for not accepting her offering of calm companionship, he was too focused.

_Asra?_

No response, but he did give her a brief glance.

_Worried…!_

“I know.”

_Rest?_

“I can’t right now,” he says curtly, shaking his head. “Stop distracting me, I can’t concentrate with your nagging. Either keep quiet or go curl up in your basket.”

His tone was sharp, and it caused Faust to stiffen in surprise as she stared at him. Then, slowly she dropped her gaze and rested her head on his arm instead. Guilt quickly washed over Asra and he put the skull back into the bucket. He stood up and went to rinse his hands in the kitchen sink and with his newly freed hand, he pried her gently off his arm to hold her in both hands.

“I’m sorry,” Asra walked to the papasan couch behind the table, seating himself down and curling up with Faust on his stomach. “I know you’re just trying to care about me.”

Asra looked decades older than he actually was. His eyes were ringed with sleepless nights, his skin had an ashen, faded pallor to it, his hair was unwashed and his waistline slowly getting smaller the longer he went without eating a full meal. The months since he left Vesuvia had been taxing. She had every reason to be worried. And he knew that, deep down.

_Forgive._

As he gently scratched under Faust’s chin and let her head fall against the crook of his arm, there came a delicate rapping against the door, startling both of them. He stood up, Faust sliding across his shoulders before Asra strode to the door to see who had interrupted him while the shop’s lamp clearly hadn’t been lit for months.

The smell of myrrh registered before Asra had even turned the handle, and his annoyance quickly melted away. He hadn’t even considered the fact that no complete stranger would know Asra was in the shop. He looked up at Muriel, forcing a tired smile.

“When was the last time you slept?” Muriel asked, not even stepping into the shop yet.

Asra answered without missing a beat. “I took a nap this morning.” He conveniently left out how _long_ the nap had been, since shutting his eyes for twenty minutes while reading about how daisy roots were used in ancient ressurective rituals obviously didn’t count.

“And ate?”

“About an hour ago.”

“How much?”

“Enough. Muriel, I’m _fine._ ”

Muriel looked at Asra dubiously. He didn’t respond, but his feelings were clear in his eyes.

“It’s kind of late. Did you need something?”

“To check on you.”

“Well, there you have it. I’m alive and well, and busy so...”

Perhaps his tone was sharper than it should’ve been, because he instantly regretted his dismissive words. Muriel was clearly only there out of concern for Asra’s wellbeing. So, Asra stepped aside to allow Muriel to enter, sighing softly. “Come on in, let me make you some tea.”

The instant Muriel entered, his expression was scrunched up with disgust. “...Why does it smell like a dead animal in here?”

Asra stopped mid-stride to look at Muriel and then side-eyed the bucket that sat just outside the closet. Asra had been storing the bucket in there all day to soak the skull. Opening a window would risk letting the smell of blood out so he mostly just kept it there with the closet door closed with a towel under it. Now that it was open while he was working on cleaning the skull, the pungent iron stench had flooded the ground floor of the shop. Honestly, he’d gotten used to it, and could hardly notice it unless he was sitting over the bucket like he had been earlier.

“I’m...cleaning some animal bones. The ones I used to have are missing.”

“...”

Asra kept walking into the kitchen to put a pot of water to boil. Muriel didn’t sit down.

“It’s nothing serious. Just for inventory purposes.” he said, trying to reassure Muriel. But he knew Muriel didn’t buy it. There were ways to get to the bones that were much less offensive to the senses. Asra pulled out a chair from the dining room table and settled into it, looking up at his friend with another tired smile.

“Why so rushed?”

“I’m just impatient.”

“Impatient for what?”

“What’s with the interrogation?” Asra tried to laugh, but it was clear that the conversation was beginning to stress him.

“...You’ve been avoiding people.”

“So is every other person in Vesuvia, if they’re stupid enough to stay. I’m surprised you’re not hiding at home again.”

“This is different, Asra. You’re grieving.”

That caused the tension to rise. Asra had not done a lot of reflection on his actions following his return. None, in fact. He was too busy reflecting on his actions _before_ his return. Both the cards and The Magician had told him he was acting without enough forethought. But he was too invested. Too _desperate._

“You’re hiding something.” Muriel pressed on, causing Asra to heave a sigh and lean on the table. He knew he owed Muriel the truth, at the very least. Muriel was his closest friend and confidante. Always had been. He watched the hulking man for a moment. Eventually, he relented.

“I’m...attempting necromancy.”

Muriel remained silent, so Asra continued.

“I want to contact Death to ask for guidance on a ressurection ritual.”

Muriel didn’t speak for a long time, and when he did, there is a very heavy weight to his voice. “...You’re making a mistake.”

“That’s an opinion, and you’re entitled to it.”

“Asra...you’ve been hiding all of this. For nearly a week now. You know as well as I do it’s a mistake.”

Asra couldn’t help the sudden swell or rage that began to brew within him. “I’m making things right again.”

“You don’t have to make anything right. There’s nothing wrong to begin with. You can’t change the past..”

“Yes I can.” Asra snapped at him, and he could feel Faust squeeze his shoulders.

_Calm._

Before he could try to apologize, Muriel finally spoke his mind.

“This project...you seem to be letting it consume you.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic.” Asra sighed, sounding unmoved. “I have a lot of research to do, a lot of things to try and practice. Things that take time, and I don’t have lot of it to spare.”

“You need to slow down.”

“I _can’t_ slow down,” he argued, standing up as the pot began to boil, going to set the tea to steep.

“It’s a very stupid idea to raise the dead.”

“It’s not impossible, it’s been done before.”

“I don’t recall any of those stories having good endings.”

“I’m not really looking to argue with you, Muriel. You asked what I’m doing and I told you.”

“So you don’t think what you’re doing is wrong?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Well, you haven’t spoken to me since your return, and you’re trying to hide whatever you’re doing by doing it at night when you’re less likely to be caught.”

Asra turns around, exasperated. “I’m not _hiding_ because I’m _less likely to be caught_. Contacting an Arcana is a specific and demanding process.”

“...That sounds more like an excuse than anything else.”

“You don’t understand—I don’t expect you to, either. I have to do this.”

“...You really don’t.”

“Who else will? Who else cares?”

“No one.”

Asra gestures a hand, confirming his point, and returns to pour the tea out of the pot and into a couple of mugs.

“You _shouldn’t_ care, Asra.”

The words caused a shift in the atmosphere. Asra stopped pouring, and Faust seemed to shrink a little bit, ducking beneath his sash. Although Muriel was right, it still stung Asra, deeply. He wanted to care. Regardless of the consequences.

Asra carefully set down the pot before he spoke again, voice low and holding a sharp edge. “I think maybe you should go. Before we both say things we’ll regret.”

“...”

Asra turned and left the kitchen, walking over to the short stool next to the closet that held the bone bucket. He pulled the skull out of the murky, soapy water and continued the scrubbing of the stubborn pieces of boiled tissue. Muriel slowly lumbered over to him, standing next to the closet.

“Asra…”

He didn't look up. “Yes?”

“...They wouldn’t have wanted this.”

The young magician took a deep, audible breath to quell whatever vicious words were about to be released. He slowly lifted his head and regarded Muriel with a cold scowl that radiated spite.

Muriel didn’t look ashamed of his words. Nor did he look guilty. But his eyes held an impatient sort of worry, like Asra was a child that would not listen to reason. Asra looked back down at the skull, scrubbing harder.

“You don’t know that.”

“And you do?”

He dropped the skull violently back into the bucket, standing up again. “You’re not succeeding in persuading me, if that’s your intention. The only thing you’re doing is frustrating me. I don’t have time for your mothering and I _definitely_ don’t have time to listen to you preach.”

“...”

Without another word, Muriel turned and left, the front door shutting with a note of finality. Asra slumped back down into the stool, wiping his hands on his pants before lifting his arms to hold his head and prop his elbows onto his knees. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. Bringing a soul back from the dead with a disorganized conglomeration of correspondences that might or might not have even produced anything. Calling an Arcana who might or might not help him. It was becoming an impossible delusion. He couldn’t keep doing this.

Faust peered out from under his sash, and he could feel her concern begin to roll through him in waves. It did nothing but fill him with more guilt. Tears began to flood his eyes and he inhaled sharply, letting his hands drag down his face.

_Big friend is right..._

Her affirmation caused the dam to break, and Asra sobbed quietly. His head hurt terribly. His heart ached in his ribs, and his body was sore from constant tension and little rest. He was pouring all of himself into this damnable venture, and it was taking a significant toll on him and everyone around him. But he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let himself. He _couldn’t_.

Faust gave Asra’s shoulders a gentle, comforting squeeze, but it didn’t soothe him. No amount of physical comfort could, not right now. He only wanted one thing. He wanted them back.

He would give anything in the world to get them back.


End file.
